Cheers!
by Aezalea
Summary: Copious amounts of celebratory liquids, three rabid elves, one confused King, and a new definition of brotherly love...(implied humorous slash...not graphic by any means...)


As we all know, I own neither the characters, nor the setting. They belong to Tolkien, who would probably string me up by my ears if he knew the many ways in which I have abused them so. I own nothing but the demented mind that contrived this, and on most days I will not even admit to THAT.  
  
Thus in the year 3019 of the third age ended the Great War. The ring of power was destroyed; order was restored to Middle Earth. The fellowship of the ring had been rendered redundant, their quest being complete, and all that remained its members was to get completely, utterly, schnockered.  
  
Outside the White City silence hung like a curtain over the rotting corpses of hundreds of thousands of orcs and men killed in battle, their reeking flesh beginning to slip away from its frame and their maggot-ridden orifices gleaming with movement in the moonlight. Inside, the walls rang with the celebration of a people who were far more interested in the effects of ale and elvish wine, and rather wished that the decaying pile of putrescence would just go away so that they didn't have to worm their way through the festering masses every time they needed to empty the chamber pot.  
  
An explosion rang out from the center of the city, followed by either the screams of terror, or much rejoicing.  
  
"Whu' the bloody fuck w's tha?" Eomer slurred, leaning farther over the crumbling stone wall that was currently preventing him from tumbling three stories down into the city itself.  
  
"'S Gandalf," Aragorn answered, peeling himself off the ground, "Think's it's a good time to go 'round startin' fires front of people who spent the day wavin' pointy bits at big flaming eyes."  
  
"Ohhhh..." Eomer slumped forward and smacked his head on the wall. He and Aragorn had left the party some time ago, after having tried to strut around in what they hoped was a kingly manner, but, with the introduction of alcohol and pipe weed into their systems, really failing quite badly. Having decided that throwing rocks at spare guards and pissing on the bodies of dead orcs from great heights was more their style, they had retired to upper battlements of the city's outer wall.  
  
Below them, something was moving. From out the darkness it crept forward, fell over, and with a hairy mass of arms and legs, managed to right itself again. It seemed to be having a rather convoluted argument with itself, debating the merits of what to name the children and corn. Eomer picked up the closest piece of wall he could find and dropped it on the creature's head.  
  
"ATAH?" The left half of the creature crumbled, causing the right half to topple over it. From beneath the ruin screams of "ATAH!! ATAH!!" could be heard, following by various muffled grunts.  
  
Aragorn leaned over the wall and squinted. The grunting was familiar. He dropped another rock.  
  
The creature shifted, then split in two as the rock was hurled back up in their direction. "I carry him, slobbering, crazy, filthy all the way through Mordor, resist drop kicking him into a volcano, thereby saving your power-grabby ass and you lob a dirty great rock at my head?" Sam was angry. It had taken him two hours to detach Frodo from Faramir's leg, to which he had declared his undying love and servitude. It hadn't helped matters that every time Frodo had looked above the knee, he had mistaken the owner of the leg for Boromir and gone into frenzied hysterics, gnawing and gnashing his way into Faramir's boots until he was given more alcohol. In the end Sam had been forced to use Gandalf's staff to pry him away, a fact he was now regretting as the explosion caused by this had set three barrels of ale aflame and caused panic among those who were now faced with the startling dilemma of sobering up or mixing malt barely with elvish wine.  
  
"Sorry." Aragorn looked around desperately in search words to make the situation better. He failed.  
  
Sam gathered Frodo up in his arms. "I'm putting him to bed."  
  
Eomer choked. Aragorn tossed a rock at him. "Yes.that's probably best."  
  
The cry of "HO, Ha? ATAH!!" was cut short as Frodo quickly concurred. "To bed, noble steed!"  
  
"Best ride you'll ev-" The wall Eomer was currently relying on to remain semi-vertical fell with a crash to the floor as he collapsed in hysterics over his own brilliant...um...wit. Frodo paused in his spurring of Sam's behind to flip him off, wishing immediately as he did that as he had declared himself lord and master of the universe that he had put the ring on some other, less important finger.  
  
Sam grudgingly carted him away. "Stupid bloody stump."  
  
Aragorn kicked Eomer. Hard.  
  
"Wha' was that for?" Eomer got to his feet.  
  
"'S fer me havin to hear four-foot-tall shaggin through the wall all night."  
  
"Tha's not my fault, bloody throne-stealin bassard." Eomer searched his belt for his sword.  
  
Aragorn ceased with drunken staggering and recommenced butch-kingly stance. "I'm sorry, king-by-default-cuz-my-uncle's-horse-sat-on-him, what did you say?"  
  
"I said-" Eomer was cut short as Aragorn attempted to take a swing at him and ended up kissing the pavement. "Hehehehee," he giggled and plopped down next to him.  
  
"Muwhafta," Aragorn muttered into the gravel.  
  
"Whawastha?"  
  
"I sed if y're siser would taek the throne, the butch she would."  
  
"Estel." Arwen was looking particularly rabid as she approached them.  
  
"Shit."  
  
"You said you were coming to bed hours ago," she said, grabbing his hair and wrenching him to his feet.  
  
"Verrysorry," he muttered, looking at his feet. His face turned hopeful. "How 'bout now?"  
  
Arwen snarled back at Eomer as she lead Aragorn home on his leash. Eomer just smiled and curled up against the wall.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Legolas was bored. This was all so typical of Men's parties. Too much food, too much drink, too many small people humping large people's legs and going into hysterics when they mistook them for their dead brothers. He had slunk into a corner after Merry and Pippin had successfully drank Gimli under the table during a rousing game of "Ride the Took," a card game involving an ace, two jacks, and a disturbing use of a mouse, and of which Legolas was desperately wishing he had no knowledge of.  
  
He sighed, eyeing a bottle of wine someone had left unattended. He picked it up and toyed with the cork. It wasn't like it was going to hurt anything. He set the bottle down immediately as memories of waking up with one eyebrow and hair glued to his upper lip next to what he had hoped was a dark mysterious elven woman, only to find out as they talked in their sleep that it was indeed Elladan, and that Elrohir was lurking somewhere in the bed.  
  
He shuddered.  
  
What was he doing here? Men disgusted him for the most part. Arrogant bastards. He was sure he was going add to the pile of corpses outside the city if he heard one more sniggered description of himself containing the words "poncey," "flouncing," or "pouf." It was most certainly NOT "nancing about." It was walking with elvish grace. At least he didn't suffer from hydrophobia. He could get within ten feet of a washbasin without attempting to crawl back into the womb. And their hair. It wasn't that he was jealous that their eyebrows matched their top color.it was just.his thoughts blurred and convulsed into an image of Elladan and Elrohir in a most unnatural position.  
  
The cork was popped. The wine was duly consumed.  
  
Legolas sank back against the wall. Nothing seemed to be happening. Perhaps he wasn't as big of a lightweight as he had previously thought. Perhaps he wouldn't be the laughing stock of his brothers when he returned home. Perhaps he could actually consume enough to drink socially. Perhaps in time he would cease to conjure such.aberrant images of the twins in his mind.  
  
Perhaps he needed another drink. He scoured the nearby tables for another bottle. Failing to find any, he darted around the corner, his need growing by the second. All the bottles he spied were actively being shared by large groups of people. Damn. Damn damn damn. He wasn't about to drink from the same bottle as a group of sweaty meat puppets who seemed to have no qualms with mucking about knee deep in orc entrails, so long as it didn't interfere with their ability to drink, smoke, or otherwise make functional use of their lives. Maybe he was. He was nearing desperation now, on the brink of storming the barrels and demanding blood. No no, not blood. Blood didn't have nearly enough alcohol in it. He was in need of something..stronger.  
  
There it was. Tucked into Gandalf's robes, a lovely, sparkling, shiny, and above all, FULL jug (three times the size of a bottle!) bobbed up and down. Up and down. Up and down. Calling to him. Luring him closer. And closer.  
  
He pinched the jug effortlessly and slunk back off into the shadows, casting nervous glances about him. He ducked under a table and after a bit of fumbling, removed the top from the jug.  
  
It wasn't wine. It was much browner. Spicier. Stronger. Rummier.  
  
Legolas decided he liked this rum.  
  
* * * * * *  
  
Aragorn dropped Arwen on her ass as he stumbled through the doorway. Fumbling a bit to light a torch, he then proceeded to trip over her and land most graciously in a position that left his face scrapping against the stones of the floor, staring straight at a pair of distinctively feminine feet.  
  
He followed the feet up past the silken dress that covered their respective legs, over the attractive torso above them, wondering with a boyish glee what precisely Arwen had planned. The chest was a little flat, but he'd dealt with that for a few decades already. Lovely slender neck.long flowing hair.  
  
He felt his stomach forcibly remove itself from his abdominal cavity and kick him squarely in the ass as his eyes reached the face.  
  
"I.uh."  
  
Elrond was looking worried. Engrained in his face were the millennia of wisdom of one who has seen countless battles. He stood with the authority and elegance of a king, gently lifting his eyebrow and leaning over. With an air of sovereignty he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"  
  
Aragorn looked shifty, which was impressive considering his current position of groping the floor. "Chess?"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"Daddy."  
  
"We have discussed this."  
  
"Yes, but."  
  
"Finish it. Now."  
  
"We'll be married."  
  
Elrond's lip twitched ever so slightly.  
  
Arwen sniggered.  
  
"Do what you must," Elrond toward Arwen, "Just don't.damage him too badly."  
  
"OUT! OUT NOW!" Arwen screamed, reducing a vase to dust as it struck the wall near her father's head. Elrond accordingly ran for the door.  
  
Aragorn was confused. "Dama.?" He was cut off as his body was suddenly slammed up against the wardrobe.  
  
"Shh." Arwen hissed in his ear as she ripped his shirt from his chest and threw him onto the bed. She leapt on top of him, locking her lips onto his neck and fumbling with his belt. Aragorn winced. That was going to leave a mark.  
  
He forgot it a moment later. He was in ecstasy. He couldn't remember the last time he had been propositioned in such a.persuasive manner. He decided that was a personal problem. Clothing was removed. All thought was surrendered to grinding, thrashing, and the occasional metallic scraping.  
  
"Um, Arwen, don't you think you should lose the sword?"  
  
"What sword?" she breathed in his ear.  
  
Aragorn shrugged it off. Probably his. He reached up to remove her robe and was quite perplexed when her left breast came off in his hand.  
  
"Umm."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Merry and Pippin were horrifically disappointed with the lack of moaning/heavy breathing emanating from Aragorn's door. They had slunk away from the main party, dragging Gimli with them, after accidentally discovering, much to their amusement (being four-foot tall had its advantages.), that Eowyn was not a natural blond. It had been purely bad judgment on their part that had led them to impart this knowledge to Gandalf. The bit with the staff, kettle, and the ensuing fist-fight had been entirely his doing.  
  
"Ah'm booored."  
  
"Let's just bust the door down."  
  
"Right. Axe."  
  
Gimli gibbered a bit in his sleep as his axe was removed from his tender embrace. The axe was swung. The lock was removed.  
  
The sight that greeted them was not entirely as they had hoped. Instead of the scantily clad buxom elf maid they had been expecting to lech over, they were faced with a fully clothed, one breasted, subtly.different-looking Arwen, sitting on the end of the bed, with Aragorn cowering against the headboard while a more definitively masculine version of Arwen paced around them, alternately giggling and biting his knuckles.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Through the fighting Legolas crept. He had been terrifically depressed after his rum had disappeared so quickly; he couldn't bring himself to understand why the rum had to be gone. The tears, however had soon ceased flowing and he regained enough footing to steal through the guests, pinching bottles off unwary guards and other random suckers. The sweet nectar of the valar coursed heavily through his veins. The world glowed around him.  
  
He decided that it may have been a mistake taking Eowyn's last bottle of wine, however. She and Gandalf had just been getting cozy under a kettle when he had snatched it from her bodice. How was he to have known that she would get so abusive over wine theft? He really couldn't have known that she could throw a punch with such ferocity, much less that the entire crowd would join her in accusing Gandalf of appropriating their missing drinks. He was truly sorry that he had missed out on the twenty bottles that Gandalf had stashed in his robes that miraculously appeared when the mob closed in on him. And he really couldn't have foreseen such an elderly man having the stamina to stand atop an ale barrel and ward them off for as long as he had.  
  
He popped the cork out of another bottle.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Aragorn sniveled.  
  
The one-breasted Arwen spoke first. "We thought you would have caught on a few decades ago."  
  
Elladan sighed. It had been such a fun little game too, though family meals had been a little awkward and the time he had returned to the table still wearing a lipstick had required some quick thinking on his part. He was truly sad that it was come to an end. He rather liked being a woman. You could throw fits, bark orders, make men grovel, and dye your hair without being looked at funny. Sure, Aragorn had stubble that could sand the bark off an oak, not to mention a stench that could throw you off your best rhythm, but for the most part, the whole design had been a pleasant experience.  
  
"But, but," Aragorn peeked between his fingers, "You're like.like.my BROTHER."  
  
Elladan looked confused. "Which would have made 'Arwen' your sister."  
  
"Yeah, don't really see how that would have been much better."  
  
"And you are technically related anyway."  
  
"Think of what the children would have looked like."  
  
"Besides," Elladan continued, "It wasn't like it was always me. Elrohir got Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays."  
  
".you get bored after a couple thousand years of only elves."  
  
"Only so many things you could get them to do."  
  
"You were much easier to convince."  
  
"But Elrond.he knew??"  
  
"Wellll..yeah, he just made us promise not to do anything.rash."  
  
"Cuz then we'd be married to you."  
  
"And we're not sure, but we may or may not already be married to Legolas."  
  
Aragorn decided it was better not to know.  
  
"Look, if it makes you feel better you weren't half bad."  
  
"Quite good actually."  
  
"It all worked out for the best. It was like.incentive. And now you got rid of the ring, killed several thousand orcs, saved your race from extinction, blah blah blah, and now you've got two kingdoms and enough prestige to get you laid from now till eternity. Or at least until your hair falls out and you grow a beer gut."  
  
"Although, really, any 90 year old virgin could have probably done the same if you told him he was going to get laid at the end of it.and Arnor is really just kind of a package deal.and with the amount of alcohol in this country, anyone could get laid many times over. Even Gandalf."  
  
"Besides, now you don't have to worry about anyone feeding you your own kidneys if you're unfaithful."  
  
"At least not us."  
  
Aragorn looked thoughtful. The last few decades had proved rather painful. The bruises, the scars, the bad jewelry.not to mention the number of days he had spent adorned in robes, miniskirts, and sarongs to prevent further damage to his manhood.maybe this really was for the best.  
  
His train of thought was derailed by the two short men in the doorway rolling on the ground in fits of hysteria.  
  
"Oh, little guys. Come on in. It's not what it looks like."  
  
"Well, actually, it is."  
  
"We were just explaining to Estel the concept of brotherly love."  
  
"He's just a little bit tired."  
  
"Maybe just drunk."  
  
"He doesn't hold his drink very well."  
  
"Leaks like a sieve."  
  
"What are you doing here anyway? What did you do with our mouse?"  
  
Pippin stopped laughing long enough to take a breath. "Weeel, we were teaching Gimli a game, but then this whole brawl-thing started, and the mouse got lost and all sortsa chairs went flyin', so we decided to take cover under a table, but the priest kept sticking his head under an' preaching to us about 'freeing our minds.'"  
  
Merry nodded. "We kicked him in the knees and pinched his pills." He grinned.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir looked disappointed.  
  
"Too bad about the mouse."  
  
"All we have is a sauce pan, a quiver of arrows, some wax, and a disgruntled ranger."  
  
"We could teach them a new game."  
  
"Yes! And Estel too! Now that he's single."  
  
Pippin looked interested. "Can we use the fake bosoms?"  
  
There was a thud as Aragorn hit the floor.  
  
"I'll just be sleeping in the bathtub."  
  
"The bathtub? Why there?" The twins exchanged confused looks.  
  
"Yeah, its not like he ever uses it when he's sober."  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
Legolas hadn't felt this good since he had become legal a few millennia ago. He wasn't positive, but he was fairly sure that the pointy hat and robes he had acquired definitely added positively to his image. He wondered vaguely what Gandalf was going to do for clothes when he came too, but then remembered that he didn't care. Bloody bar-brawling old bat. Was his own fault. Oooh.world tipping sideways.No, that was just another guard flying past him on their way to the ground.  
  
He wondered what Merry and Pippin had done with Gimli, recalling with sudden concern their previous exertions that evening. He stole away from the brawl that was broiling around him to find them.  
  
* * * * * * *  
  
"Merry," Pippin whispered in the darkness.  
  
"Wha?" was the mumbled reply.  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
"No food. Sleep."  
  
"Too many people to sleep."  
  
"Here." Merry thrust a handful of ovular objects at him.  
  
"Whas this?"  
  
"Big dark guy. Stole em."  
  
"What if they're poison."  
  
"Try 'em on someone else then, I don bloody well care. Just sleep and leemelone."  
  
It was with unfortunate timing that Legolas burst through the doorway, waving a carrot, declaring "YOU SHALL NOT PAAA." It was even more unfortunate that at that precise moment he toppled over Gimli, who was still passed out in the doorway.  
  
"Merry," Pippin hissed, leaning over Legolas, who had managed to fall asleep before he even hit the floor and was now attempting to cuddle the cobble stones.  
  
"Narumph."  
  
"Which ones did you pinch?"  
  
"The red ones."  
  
"Oh good."  
  
Epilogue  
  
Legolas woke and squinted into the sun streaming through the windows in a state that could best be described as "massive fecking hangover." It was going to take days to sleep this one off. At least he had managed to make it to bed. He wasn't sure how or when he had made it there, but at least his eyebrows appeared to be intact.  
  
He rolled over.  
  
Oh dear. There was someone in the bed with him.  
  
He looked closer at the lump under the covers. Eru be praised. It was just Arwen. He was fairly sure he could smell Aragorn somewhere in the room, so things couldn't too terrible. Some slight embarrassment, and soreness for the next few weeks, but nothing that couldn't be lived down. He rolled back over and drifted back to sleep. 


End file.
